Of Ovens and Apple Pies
by doctordonnafriend3
Summary: Clint and Natasha try to mater an American classic, and Bruce doesn't keep track of his chemicals. Chaos ensues. K for a cuss word, but only one.


**A/N : Hello! I've never really written an A/N before so I'll try to be brief. We (that would include me, hi, and also its's our account, so why do you get to be the one who claims ownership?!) [I'm the other friend. What she said!] don't own the Avengers, nor do we make money off of it. If we did, Robert Downy Jr. would be in every single scene. Forever. (And Superhusbands would be canon) {Lies! Science boyfriends forever!} (NO! SUPERHUSBANDS FTW!)[Alright girls, this is getting long. Sqaubble later] {Not until the true glory of science boyfriends is recognized and worshipped!}(No. Everyone shall accept Superhusbands and it shall be beautiful.)**

**[...Just enjoy the story... Remember to review/favorite!]**

**{Science boyfriends...}**

**[ENOUGH!] **

"Okay." Clint said, keeping his voice low and calm, not wanting to provoke the enraged creature in front of him. "I'm not sure what I walked in on, but I'm going to back away before you take my eye out with that book." Because that's what she was holding. A book. A cook book.

"Grow up, Clint. I'm just baking. You know, to eat food."

"Oh, right. Food." He trailed off. "Is it poisoned? Because I swear to God, Thor had no idea that was your conditioner. And he's an alien, we shouldn't be so quick to judge his..." catching her steely glare, he trailed of into silence.

"And so what if he used my finest imperial conditioner, imported from Russia? Surely I wouldn't try to exact revenge." Clint shook his head.

"I'm watching you." He sighed, hopping on the counter next to her. "I will not allow the poisoning of an Asgardian god to happen while I'm around. Could you imagine the diplomat crap we'd have to go through? You'd be the one doing all the paper work-" He was cut off by a book flying towards his face, barely catching it in time.

"Fine then. You're helping."

Clint flicked the cookbook open to the marked recipe. "You're making apple pie. How dreadfully American of you."

"I happen to like apple pie." If looks could kill, Clint was fairly certain he'd have dropped dead. He patted her head condescendingly.

"Calm down scary ginger, I like apple pie too." He pulled his hand away before she could bite it, laughing and turning away to the mess of ingredients on the counter. "So wait, how do I do this?" His cooking expertise was limited to cereal and the occasional coffee.

"You can get the dry ingredients, I don't trust you with eggs. They're practically your babies, I don't want you trying to rescue any of the them." Natasha grumbled as she pulled the ill-fated poultry out of the fridge.

Clint rolled his eyes, setting the recipe on the table, grabbing the ingredients and a bowl. "Well then what are you doing?"

"I'm cutting the apples. I've got to get my practice in somehow." Casually, she twisted to throw the knife at him, and Clint ducked just in time, so that it buried itself in the wall inches from his head.

"Of course. God forbid you ever do something domestic for the heck of it."

"Anyway, you'll need the exercise more than me." She poked his arm. "You're getting doughy Hawkass."

"Like I could lose these guns." Clint replied, flexing. He threw the ingredients into a bowl, mixing them. At least, he thought they were the ingredients. It looked like pie stuff. There was some weird white powdery stuff that smelled funny, but it was most likely just sugar or something. Natasha had put it there so it was probably safe.

CRACK! "... what was that, Nat?"

"Oh, I'm just murdering the poor defenseless unborn birdies." Smirking, she expertly broke the eggs into a bowl, miraculously not breaking the shell into any extra pieces.

"NO! My babies! Daddy will rescue you!" He grabbed at her hand, but Natasha danced out of the way, dropping the shards in the sink. He fell to the floor with an anguished sob. "How could you do this to me Tasha? How could you!" She threw a spoon at him, and he dodged it, almost hitting the confused and half asleep Bruce Banner, freshly emerged from the labs.

"Hey Banner!" He grinned up at Bruce. "Tasha is trying to BAKE!"

Bruce lost the half-dead look and his now open eyes shot toward the kitchen.

"Did she by any chance use some grainy looking substance that you may think is sugar but really isn't?" Clint's eyes widened slightly in recognition, recalling the box.

"Maybe...? Why, is that a bad thing?" Hmm, maybe Natasha would get her assassination attempt after all.

"It's really, really reactive, especially towards heat." Behind him, Natasha was opening the oven door, a raw pie in hand.

"NOOOOOOO!" Still on the floor, Clint barrel rolled for the oven in classic movie style drawn out slow-mo, but it was too late. Natasha slid in the pie and shut the door firmly.

"What's the approximate ti-"

KABLOOIE!

The force of the explosion, only slightly contained by the industrial oven, threw them all back against the wall, Bruce going through it as he hulked out.

"Well, shit. Now Stark AND Fury are gonna kill us." sighed Natasha, staring at the wreckage that was previously the kitchen. The oven was was a smoldering wreck, shredded metal and jagged screws. Apple was sprayed all over the walls and the cabinets, the baking tin blackened and bent on the floor. All of Tony's fancy appliances seemed to have short circuited or otherwise exploded. Through the Hulk shaped hole in the wall, the beast himself was on a rampage, taking out the living room as well.

"Let's just go to Carter's." Clint suggested hopefully.

"Great idea, we can destroy his kitchen as well."

Later on...

Finally venturing from his lab hours later, Tony Stark glanced up from his file as he entered the kitchen, and stopped dead. He blinked a few times before tucking his Starkpad under his arm and pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed, turned around, and headed straight back to his blessed machines. He could stay in the basement forever, as long as he still had his coffee maker. He would let Pepper take care of the rest.


End file.
